fragments of you and me
by alivingfantasy
Summary: Because some moments are left to the imagination. The missing moments of Spencer and Toby's love story, told in oneshots. Spoby.
1. 1x20: firelight

**a/n: so most of you probablyy don't remember me due to my extended absence from this site-school and family and life really got in the way and i truly am sorry. buuut i am back now and starting a new oneshot series, so i hope you all enjoy :)**

**also: for those of you interested, an update for my au spoby story, **_**set the dark on fire, **_**will be coming soon.**

**and as always, i love reading your reviews. they make my day. thanks.**

**-Ana**

-:-

_fragments of you and me_

-:-

the missing moments of Spencer and Toby's love story, in oneshots.

-:-

one: firelight

"What's it like to run away?"

She doesn't mean to ask the question; it just pops out of her mouth. Running away, escaping the mess that is her life is something she's only ever secretly fantasized about. It's something she'd never have mentioned to her family, obviously, or even her friends. But with him, somehow, it feels...safe.

"Cold," he responds. "Haven't you ever run away?"

She looks into the fire, fizzling in the hearth and washing the room in a warm glow. "Once. I think I was seven." She shrugs. "My sister and I had a fight and my parents took her side." They almost always did, she continues silently.

"What were you fighting about?" His voice is gentle. It occurs to her that she's never heard a voice so soothing.

"Some great injustice, I don't remember now," she lets out a short laugh. "But they took her side, so I packed a tuna salad sandwich, and I ran away."

"Where did you go?" He can see that she's lost in the memory, and that it's one she hasn't thought of in a long time.

"The movies." she smiles, though there's little humor in it. "It was something animated. There was a princess," she continues, "and everybody was singing. And I got lonely." She pauses. "So I ate my tuna salad sandwich, and I went home."

"Were your parents worried?"

When she replies, her voice is the smallest he's ever heard it. "They didn't even know I was gone."

And he doesn't know what to say. He knows her family life is shaky. He remembers her sardonic comment to him when she'd dropped him off at the motel: _"The House of Hastings isn't exactly my safe place to land right now." _He understands; his family isn't a Hallmark card either. But he can't imagine Peter and Veronica forgetting about her altogether. How can parents overlook their own child? Especially one who was so smart, so caring, so beautiful?

Telling him a story like that, he realizes, probably wasn't easy for her, for a girl so used to being strong and in charge. And seeing her when her vulnerabilities surfaced makes his heart break, although he also feels honored that she trusts him enough to be the one she shared it with.

"Hey," he says after a moment. "Do me a favor."

She looks up at him, and he feels that flutter in his stomach, the same foreign pull he's been inflicted with since the day she showed up on his porch clutching a French workbook. "What?"

"If you ever get the urge to run away again, call me first. Okay?"

She smiles then, a real smile. One that makes his heart thump faster. "Okay."

Gently, he takes her hand, and she links her fingers through his. Looking down at their entwined hands, she marvels at how they seem to fit so perfectly together, as if they were meant to be held by only the other. They sit for a moment, lost in their own thoughts, gazing into the fire.

They haven't discussed the kiss they'd shared outside the motel. What exactly are they? Toby wonders. Not friends, no, they've crossed that line. But they aren't a couple either, as far as he's certain.

He glances back over at the brunette, studying her profile. Long, soft mahogany curls; big, intelligent brow eyes; slim, willowy figure. A sharp tongue, razor-sharp wit, a bottomless well of compassion. He may have only 'officially' known Spencer Hastings for a short time, but already he can see there's more to her than her preppy blazers and 4.0 GPA, her sprawling estate and SAT scores.

"Why are you staring at me?" He's startled from his thoughts by the sound of her voice, as she peers at him with a smile tugging at the corners of those plump lips, one eyebrow winged up.

"You're beautiful," he answers truthfully, and prays he's not blushing when her smile widens slightly.

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"No, just the ones whose asses I kick at Scrabble," He grins when her smile is replaced by a scowl.

"I told you. It was not a complete ass-kicking. You won by what? Ten points?"

"You're not used to losing, are you?" He's amused, and she knows it.

Just as she knows there's only one way to wipe that smirk off his face.

"Who says I lost?" And then her lips are on his.

To say he's taken by surprise is an understatement. All he can think to do is kiss her back, fire burning between them just as poignantly as it burns in the hearth.

The kiss is only a few seconds, but he's dazed and breathless when he pulls back. "Is it too forward to tell you I've been thinking about that all night?"

She flashes him that smile again. "What, kissing me? No. I've been thinking about it, too."

He can't think of what to say, and she can't help but admit to herself that the totally taken aback look on his face is adorable. "I've been thinking, and...I'd like it if you stuck around."

Now he smiles too, and she sees those baby blue eyes light up. "I was planning on it."

He reaches for her hand again, and she gives his a quick squeeze. "You know, when the cops showed up to go through my stuff, all I could think was, _what goes around comes around._" She shakes her head. "Now I know what it feels like, to be accused of something like that. To have people think I did something like that when I didn't. And I feel like I deserve it, for saying what I said about you. For thinking, even for a minute, that you-"

"No. Spencer. Look at me." When she does, he feels an ache at the misery in her eyes. "You don't deserve this. And anyone who believes that you're capable of hurting Alison, or anyone else, is insane."

She smiles slightly. "If I were you, I wouldn't have forgiven me when I showed up on your porch."

He brushes a strand of silky hair behind her ear. "I'm really glad you did. Show up on my porch."

"And I'm really glad you have a heart of gold and forgave me."

They sit in silence for a few more minutes before he speaks again. "It's getting late. I should probably go."

"Yeah." Reluctantly, she untangles herself from him, rising to walk him to the door.

"I'll call you," he tells her as he shrugs into his jacket.

"I'll answer." She rises up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Thank you. For being here."

He smiles, "Anytime. Goodnight, Spencer."

"Goodnight."

And with one final look, brimming with words that didn't need to be spoken, he leaves.

Standing alone in her kitchen, Spencer looks down at her hand, the hand that still burns from Toby's touch.

She might be a person of interest in her best friend's murder, with a psychopath stalking her and a real killer living in her backyard.

But right then? She is thinking of something else.

Something that she hopes is a new beginning.


	2. 2x03: three little words

two: three little words

He's exhausted, in the best possible way.

It's been a productive day working for Jason. The fence he's been hired to build is almost halfway completed, and he's well on his way to procuring the funds he needs to purchase real carpentry tools and the truck he has his eye on, though he worries the truck has already been sold - and the Yardley job taken.

But he's glad he's been given an opportunity to escape the hell that is the roof he's currently living under, though he's slightly concerned by his girlfriend's obvious distrust of his employer. Jason seems kind enough, and he was willing to offer Toby a job, despite his not-so-shiny reputation.

He knows there's no use trying to appease Spencer, though. Once she gets an idea in her head, she won't rest until she proves it right. And that unshakable determination, that downright stubbornness, is one of the many things about her that fascinates him.

Smiling at the thought of Spencer, he carries his supplies around to the front of the DiLaurentis house, intending on stopping by next door to see her. Maybe he can talk her into forgetting her studying for a few hours so they can watch a movie, perhaps one of the classic black and white ones she loves.

Just then, startled from his thoughts, he spots a truck coming around the corner, and does a double take. It's his truck. The truck he'd wanted to buy for the Yardley job.

And behind the wheel is none other than a very familiar brunette.

Dropping the load in his arms to the ground, surprised and perplexed, he walks toward the tan Chevy as she parks in front of him and steps out, beaming.

"Spencer," he begins, but she grins wider, tossing him the keys over the roof of the truck, which he catches reflexively.

"Take it. It's yours." She can't keep the giddiness out of her voice, can't stop the smile that threatens to split her face in half. Just seeing him, seeing the absolute shocked happiness in his bright blue eyes, makes all the dark spots in her life vanish, vanquished by the light.

"Are you crazy?" He asks, and she laughs, because she is. She's crazy about him, and she wouldn't change a thing. "Do you know how long it'll take for me to pay you back?"

Honestly, she doesn't want or need him to repay her; in a way, by being who he is, _she's_ the one who owes him. But, because she knows he'll insist, she responds, "Well, you have a job to get to tomorrow. In Yardley, right?" She leans against the truck, smiling as he looks down at the keys in his hand, then back up at her. In the late afternoon sunlight, she looks angelic and ethereal.

And he knows. He knows that she's it. She's the one. The one he's in love with, the one he'll always be in love with. And he desperately needs her to know it.

So he takes another step closer to her, and says the words he's only ever said to himself since he kissed her outside the motel. "I love you so much."

Those gorgeous dimples etch themselves onto her heart-shaped face as she takes his hands in hers. "I wanted to say that first."

And when their lips touch, it's just as bright and soft and lovely as those sunbeams. Neither of them notice Jason standing on his porch, watching them, as his hands tangle through her soft curls and her lips cruise over his.

Finally drawing back, as oxygen is a necessity, he grins in shameless delight at the Chevy. "I can't believe you did this for me."

"It's not a big deal-" she begins, but he cuts her off.

"It is. Spence, it's a huge deal. I-" he stops, then, cupping her face in his hands, kisses her softly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she sighs contentedly, then gives his arm a playful swing. "You wanna take her for a spin?"

With a laugh, he opens the door of the passenger seat, gesturing. "M'lady."

She chuckles, and he wonders how he went seventeen years without ever hearing the beautiful sound that is Spencer Hastings' laugh. "Thank you, kind sir." He helps her in, then walks around to the driver's side, inserting the keys into the ignition.

The truck is roomy, and smells like old leather, with a hint of Spencer's perfume.

It drives smoothly. It can handle holding any supplies he needs. All in all, it's perfect.

But what's even better, is that she went through the trouble of buying it for him. Of helping him.

"Do you like it?" She asks, as they drive down Main Street. "Is it the one you wanted? I tried to get the exact one, but I only saw the picture you had for, like, ten seconds, and-"

"Spencer. Breathe," he laughs, taking her hand and holding it in his atop the wheel. "I love it. It's just exactly perfect."

She sighs in relief. "Good. I'm so glad you think so."

They drive in silence for awhile, until they reach the scenic lookout spot located on the hills overlooking Rosewood. He parks, then turns to face her.

"You know you didn't have to do this for me."

"I know," she smiles, rubbing a circle over his knuckles with her thumb. "I wanted to. I wanted you to know...how much you mean to me."

The words arrow straight to his heart, filling him with a fluttery feeling he's come to understand is love. Leaning over, he brushes a stray strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"I wish there was some way I could show you what you mean to me," he murmurs.

"Toby." She strokes his cheek, her big brown eyes seeming to sear straight through him and into his soul. "You can."

And then somehow his lips find hers, or maybe hers find his, and neither of them say anything- or think anything -for a while.

"Thank you so much," he breathes finally, drawing back to lean his forehead against hers.

"You can stop thanking me. Seeing you this happy is thanks enough," she assures him, kissing his cheek.

She pulls away, only to rest her head against his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around her, stroking her hair.

"Can we just stay here for awhile?" She sounds so perfectly content, laying there in his arms, that his heart threatens to explode.

So he nods, and kisses the top of her head, and as they curl up together in his new truck, watching the sky blaze a soft pink as the sun sets, the only thought running through his mind is of three little words: _I love you, I love you, I love you..._


	3. pre-3x01: home

**set during the six month break between 2x25 and 3x01. reviews make me happier than words could ever express. **

-:-

three: home

The loft is airy, and holds a combination of scents that she recognizes as sawdust, leather, spearmint, and a whiff of his cologne. It's spartan, with only a few wooden chairs strewn about and walls that have only a taupe base coat, yet somehow spacious, and as she does a slow spin in the center of what she supposes is the living room, she's overcome with a bubbling feeling of pride and awe. Turning back to face her boyfriend, who is leaning against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets and wearing a slightly nervous smile, all she can think to say is, "Wow."

"Is that a good wow?" Toby asks with a slight chuckle. "Or a let-me-just-spare-his-feelings wow?"

"A good wow," she assures him quickly. "An amazing wow. Toby..." she walks back to him, taking his hands in hers and giving them a tight squeeze. "It's so, so great."

He lets out a relieved sigh, drawing her into his arms and laying his chin atop her brunette head. He'd finally scraped together the funds to escape the home he'd lived in with his parents and Jenna, and, by some miracle, been offered a job renovating a new coffeeshop that had just opened in downtown Rosewood, with the added benefit of being given a loft located above the shop. He'd been excited, but apprehensive, throwing himself into the remodeling of his new home. And now he is ready to share it with his girlfriend.

He can admit to himself that while getting the loft ready, he'd spent many a moment imagining him and Spencer there, perhaps playing Scrabble, or washing dishes together, or curling up in each other's arms to sleep. And now, with her pressed so close to him in his new safe haven, he can't help but fantasize that, someday, his home could be _their _home.

"You know what we should do?" She murmurs into his chest.

"Hmmm?" He toys with a strand of hair that's escaped from her ponytail.

"We should get you some nice furniture." She pulls away, and suddenly she's a brown-eyed tasmanian devil. "Some curtains, too. And silverware! Maybe some picture frames? How about a nice coffeetable? And kitchen appliances, my mom was looking at a great dishwasher the other day for only nine hundred ninety-nine dollars-"

"Whoa, whoa. Spence." Laughing, he takes her hand again and pulls her back to him. "I barely have working plumbing. And the walls haven't been painted yet-"

"Doesn't mean you should live without the important stuff," she counters.

"Spence, since when do lacy window treatments and a thousand-dollar dishwasher count as important stuff?"

She sighs, then sinks down onto the futon that he got for a song at someone's yard sale. "I guess I feel like getting you a proper fridge and some nice rugs will make this feel like an actual home. I mean, you worked _so_ hard to get away from your parents' house, and I just...I want you to have everything you need here. To make it home."

"Spencer." Sitting down beside her, he tenderly takes her hand. "I don't need a gourmet coffee maker or a five hundred thread-count quilt to make this place feel like home. All I need is _you_."

He watches the smile wash over her face, making it even more beautiful, watches emotion flash in her dazzling mocha-colored irises. "Toby," she sighs, and then he leans down as she leans up, and their lips press together in effortless harmony.

The taste of her, the scent, the way she makes his heart beat faster with just one look or just one touch...he wonders if he will ever get used to it, get used to _her_. He hopes not.

When they finally pull back, he leans his forehead against hers, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head, grinning at the sight of the contented smile on her face. Seeing her happy is all he needs to become overwhelmed with happiness as well, just as seeing her upset is enough reason to become overcome by staggering pain.

But for now, she's happy, and so is he.

"You're amazing, you know that?" She asks breathlessly, reaching up to smooth his chestnut locks. He touches her cheek, shaking his head at the irony of the words that have just tumbled past her lips.

"I don't know about that, but I know _you're_ amazing."

"Sweet talker," she responds with a laugh, kissing him again. "You're some sweet talker, Cavanaugh."

Chuckling, he nuzzles her nose with his. "And _you _are absolutely gorgeous, Miss Hastings." He trails a series of kisses across her jawline.

"Mmm..." Her eyes flutter shut as he works his way up to her ear. "And _you_...are really good at that..."

They fall down horizontally on the couch, him on top of her, their faces millimeters apart, breath coming in short pants. As he watches her watching him, a tingling feeling - something he identifies as desire - ignites within him.

Then suddenly, their mouths fuse together, tongues engaging in a fierce duel, his fingers yanking the tie from her hair so his hands can tangle through her silky mahogany curls. Her legs entwine with his, and before she even fully realizes what she's doing, she's pulling up the hem of his baby blue cotton T-shirt to run her fingers over the smooth, hard muscles of his back. His hands affix themselves on her waist, burning through her own thin shirt, seeming to scorch her flesh.

When he reaches for the waistband of her denim shorts, however, her eyes fly open.

"Wait," she manages, pulling herself out from underneath him.

"What?" He pulls away, the desire in his stunning blue eyes replaced by concerned confusion. "Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you? I-"

"No." She sits up, readjusting her shirt, not meeting his eyes. "No, Toby. You were fine. You're perfect. It's just..." She pauses, then looks up at him. His shirt is half pulled up, his hair tousled, and his eyes are desperately seeking hers, as if she's his center.

No one has ever made her feel so undeniably _important _before. So wanted. So cherished.

"I can't do...that. I mean," she adds hurriedly, reaching for his hand. "I do want to, with you. But just...not yet."

Toby looks down at their linked fingers, feeling a rush of shame. He's angry at himself for forcing her into a position where she felt uncomfortable. For God's sake, she can't even look at him. He should have been more in control, he thinks disgustedly. But...with her so close, her eyes sparkling into his, her taste on his tongue, in their own little bubble of happiness with all the drama of the past behind them...he had just drowned. Drowned in her.

They've never talked about it before. About sex. Before their breakup at the hands of A - otherwise known as the petite airhead Mona Vanderwaal - they'd gotten pretty close a few times, but they'd always been interrupted before it got too serious.

Before Spencer, he'd likened sex to something dark and vicious, to locked doors and pain, to violation and blackmail. Even after he'd escaped Jenna's clutches, he'd all but closed his mind off to ever getting that close to another person, to exposing himself to another person.

But with Spencer, it is different. She makes him feel safe, and vulnerable - but in a good way. She makes him feel like he can do anything, be whoever he wants. She makes him feel happy, and loved. She makes him feel a thousand feelings he'd never thought he could actually feel. She makes the dark thoughts in his head, the scars on his heart, vanish. As if they'd never been there in the first place.

So he takes her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him.

"Are you mad?" She questions quietly, and he curses himself for leaving her to wonder, for not reassuring her sooner.

"Spencer. God, no. I'm not mad." He kisses her forehead, her nose, her cheek. "It's okay. We'll wait. We'll wait til you're one hundred percent sure. I don't want you to regret anything."

"Toby, I could never regret being with you," she tells him, her eyes swimming. "It's just-"

He cuts her off with another kiss. "You don't have to explain, Spence. I just want you to know that you mean the world to me. And whenever you're ready, I promise, I'll find a way to make it special, and romantic. And perfect. Because that's what you deserve."

"I already have special, and romantic, and perfect." She squeezes his hand. "I have you."

And then their lips meet, whisper-soft, and he draws her over so that she's nestled comfortably in his lap.

"I love you, Spencer," he murmurs, kissing the top of her head.

"I wanted to say that first," she giggles softly.

She falls asleep there, hours later, tucked into his arms, and as he strokes her hair and listens to the sound of her steady breathing, he wonders once again what it would be like to rock her to sleep every night, to wake up beside her every morning. To share their lives together.

Maybe someday, he hopes, they can.


	4. 5x08: put you back together

**an extension of last night's spoby scene, just because i have feels. **

-:-

four: put you back together

_Goddamn it. _Her eye is _killing _her, and she has a moment to ponder if the amount of physical pain she's endured over the past two years is slowly edging up to the amount of emotional pain she's endured.

Does she really want to know the answer to that?

Dabbing at her swollen eye with a damp towel to lessen the pain from agonizing to simply miserable, she winces, replaying the scene at the stables for the thousandth time since Emily had dropped her off at home twenty minutes before.

It doesn't make any more sense than it did the other nine hundred and ninety-nine times, but she supposes that she should be used to that by now.

A sound at the door startles her, and she lowers the towel to take a tentative step toward it, as irrational - okay, maybe it isn't too irrational, given her circumstances - panic floods through her.

She spots a shadow - yes, totally rational panic - and she can swear her heart stops beating.

And then she sees a pair of stunning blue eyes, and her relief almost drowns her.

"Hi," she breathes, pulling open the door and moving aside to let him enter, watching as he shakes droplets of rain from the hood of his jacket.

"I got your message," he tells her, concern filling his face as his gaze wafts over her. "Are you okay? What happened to your eye?"

She quickly presses the towel back to the injured spot. "Something's just stuck in it, and I'm trying to take it out."

He looks as if he wants to say something, but he's distracted. "What's that smell?" He asks, sniffing the air.

"What smell?"

"I don't know. It smells like-"

"Manure?" She supplies dryly, heading over to the couch, and reaching for her phone to examine her injury through the reflection of its screen.

"Yeah, what is that?"

"It's manure." She drops down unceremoniously onto the couch, letting out a short sigh. "Emily and I went over to the stables where Mrs. DiLaurentis used to take Bethany." Propping up one leg, she leans down slightly to remove her black lace-up boots, grimacing at the smell of the manure clinging stubbornly to their soles.

Toby moves to sit across from her, and she finds herself struggling to resist meeting his gaze, knowing that the frustration and concern in his eyes will be enough to trip her over the edge. "Did you find something?"

"Bethany apparently didn't like to be bribed." She suddenly becomes fixated on the towel still clenched in her hand. "My sister's riding helmet was there."

Toby's eyes widen, then narrow. "Wait, what? Melissa's been up there, too?"

She finally looks up, realizing belatedly that he's more than frustrated and concerned. He's angry, too. "Possibly. Unless "A"knew we were going up there and just planted it," she adds, and has a moment to ask herself why she's still defending Melissa. Sure, she's her sister, her flesh and blood, but...evidence doesn't lie.

Nor does it tell the whole story, she reminds herself.

Toby, however, is focused on other things. He leans in closer so that she's forced to look at him. "What happened to your eye, Spence?" His voice is firm, but she hears the underlying tone of fear.

And she decides she may as well tell him the whole story.

"We got locked in this stall and the horse next to us just went psychotic," she managed, tears of anger and exhaustion and helplessness rising to her eyes, burning behind them. "And we got really close to being kicked to death."

Toby stands up abruptly, moving away from her, and she hears the bitterness in his voice when he asks, "So did "A" take credit for this yet?"

"Toby-" she begins, but he cuts her off.

"I'm just-I'm so tired of feeling like this," he says, and now all that's in his voice, in his eyes, in his posture, is simple exhaustion. A sign of surrender.

"Feeling like what?" She asks, helpless.

"Powerless." He makes a defeated gesture, eyeing her closely.

She pauses. She's no stranger to that feeling. None of them are. And maybe this is the right lead-in to what she needs to say to him. "That's...what I wanted to call and tell you."

"What, that you're lucky you didn't get trampled?"

"No." She inhales a shaky breath. "To tell you that I'm sorry."

Slowly, he crosses back over to her, kneeling on the floor in front of her so that they're eye to aching eye.

"What are you talking about?" He asks her softly.

She swallows hard, knowing that she needs to get this out. That he needs to hear it from her. "If you becoming a cop is gonna put an end to this...then I say, go. Study hard. Graduate early. Because coming back to this house with my parents split up and...Melissa being a part of this, it just...it's getting so much worse."

And then she can't hold back the tears any longer, and they storm down her cheeks like the rain falling endlessly outside. Toby feels a slice down his heart - he'd rather cut off his own arm than see her in tears like this - and a newfound helplessness courses through his veins. Powerless. That's what he is. He's powerless to stop these monsters from blowing up his house, from tormenting him, from harming the beautifully broken girl who owns his heart.

And he's sick of it.

Taking the towel from her hand, he presses the fabric gently to her gorgeous amber iris, leaning his forehead against hers carefully, his calloused hand cupping her cheek.

"Toby-" she begins, her voice a thick, raspy whisper, before she's interrupted by her phone, sitting on the arm of the couch, buzzing an incoming call.

Pulling away from him - he reluctantly releases her - she checks the ID display, then glances back at her boyfriend. "It's Em," she reports, before accepting the call. "Hello?" She listens for a moment before he watches her body tense up again. "What happened? Yeah, okay. I'll...be right there. Bye." She puts down the phone, then rubs a hand over her brow.

"What happened?" He asks, bracing himself for the worst.

"Ali...she was staying over at Hanna's tonight. "A" - or someone else - broke in."

"Oh my God. Is she okay?" Despite his dislike for the blonde - and his belief that she is causing even more drama for Spencer and her friends alive than she ever had when she was dead - he's immediately concerned. They all know that this "A" isn't playing around.

"Yeah. Hanna's mom was with her; I don't know where Hanna was." She shoves her phone into her pocket, then reaches down to put on her boots. "I have to go."

"Okay." He had expected that. Her loyalty to her friends - including Ali - is unwavering. It's one of the many things about her that leaves him constantly in awe. "Do you need me to drive you to Hanna's?"

"No, she's back next door now. I'll walk." She shrugs into her leather jacket, then looks back at him. Still perched across from the couch, his eyes dancing with a million different emotions, looking forlorn and lost and worried.

Crossing the room again, she kneels before him, just as he did for her, and takes his hand. "Stay here, okay? I shouldn't be long. When I get back we can watch a movie or something. I really don't want to be alone tonight," she adds, eyeing him pleadingly.

He smiles slightly, then rubs his thumb over her knuckles. "Okay."

"Okay," she echoes. One final look, and she's out the door.

He watches her leave, letting out a heavy sigh. It seems to him that just when things seem to be calm for the moment, another hurricane always hits and leaves them all spinning.

Why is that?

He imagines that any other teenage couple in Rosewood would go bowling or to the movies, rather than on a stakeout for a date. And any other teenage couple would be planning for prom rather than breaking into asylums.

Of course, he and Spencer have never had it "normal."

To occupy himself while he waits for her to return, he wanders into the kitchen to make a bowl of popcorn, though he doubts that any of the Hastings have gone shopping for things outside of milk, toilet paper, or business suits lately.

He's pleasantly surprised to unearth a box of movie theater butter popcorn in the pantry, and sticks the packet in the microwave.

When Spencer reenters the house, she walks in to the tantalizing scents of butter, salt, and freshly-brewed coffee, and the sight of her boyfriend sitting on the couch, a huge bowl and two steaming mugs on the table in front of him.

"Is that popcorn?" She asks, momentarily distracted.

"It is," he grins at her unabashed surprise. He loves watching her react to life's small pleasures. Standing, he guides her down onto the couch beside him, slipping an arm around her. "How's Ali?"

Almost immediately, the glow in her eyes dissipates. "Oh, she's fine," she responds, letting out a short laugh. "She's as manipulative a liar as ever."

The hand he's stroking up and down her back comes to an abrupt halt. "What are you talking about?"

"That person that broke into the Marins' tonight? It wasn't "A", or any real threat. It was Noel Kahn."

"Noel?" Confused, he angles his head to peer down at her. "Why would he-?"

"Because Ali asked him to. So that people would stop asking questions. God." She wiggles out of his hold and begins to pace like a caged animal, her voice rising as she speaks."Lying...it's all just a joke to her. This whole cover story she came up with. She's enjoying it, enjoying people fawn over her. And you know what? Every lie she tells, every detail she tacks on, every elaborate _scheme _she cooks up...we're the ones paying for it. Me, and you, and Aria, and Emily, and Hanna, and everyone we care about. We're all at her mercy. But what the hell else is new?"

Exhausted, she falls back onto the couch, then takes a deep breath before speaking again. Her voice is quiet when she does, and she stares straight ahead. "I thought...I don't know, for some reason I thought she'd changed. But she didn't. She's the same way she always was." She lets out another humorless chuckle. "But we're not. Me and the girls? We're not the same people we used to be. It doesn't matter. When it comes to Alison, we'll always be her puppets."

"You don't have to be," he finally speaks, choosing his words carefully. "You can just...cut yourself off from her."

She sighs again, then turns to face him. "Toby, I would love to, believe me, but...I can't. Someone really _is _after her, after all of us, and they're not playing games."

How it's his turn to laugh humorlessly. "You're talking to the guy whose house just blew up."

She reaches for his hand, an apology in her eyes. "I just...I can't walk away from her. We're all in this together."

"Did it ever occur to you that Alison being back has made things worse than they ever have been?" The words are out of his mouth before he can even try to hold them back.

"Yes." To his surprise, she doesn't get angry, doesn't evade, doesn't walk away. He looks at her, really looks at her, and feels tears well up in his eyes when he sees how absolutely spent she is.

"God, I just want this to be over," she groans, burying her head in her hands. Her voice is muffled when she continues, "I just want it all to go away."

"Spencer." His voice is gentle, balm over a bruise, a breeze in a desert, sunshine after brutal winter. She lets out a sob when she feels his arms come around her again, holding her close.

"I'm sorry."

She jerks her head up, frowning at him. "For what? You don't have to be sorry. Toby, you're, like, the one thing keeping me sane right now."

He draws her closer, so that she's snuggled in his lap, then tilts up her chin with his finger, running a hand down her cheek. Drying tears track a silver path down her pale skin, and he brushes the moisture away. "You know, I've seen you like this way too many times since we met."

"Seen me like what?" She strokes a hand absently up and down his chest.

He doesn't speak for a moment; he just looks at her. Then he lays a gentle, gentle kiss to her injured eye's lid, instantly relieving the residual throbbing before laying another soft kiss to her mouth.

"Broken." He replies at length.

She feels a jolt at the word. "I'm pretty good at putting myself back together," she hisses, averting her eyes, not willing to admit that the idea of being broken - not perfect, not strong, not fearless; _broken_- has caused an avalanche within her.

"I know you are," he answers quietly, taking her chin again so she's forced to meet his eyes. "That's one of the things I love about you. Your resilience. But...is it so bad that, just once, I want to be the one to put you back together?"

His words erase the defensiveness. "Oh, Toby," she murmurs, reaching up to kiss him soundly. "You do. You're the only one who ever really can."

He kisses her back, and for a little while they forget the world outside, forget text messages and threats and faceless figures in black hoodies and red coats. They lose themselves in a world where it's just the two of them, where no evil can taint them and no fears can touch them.

"I love you." Her breath hitches on the words, and she sees his heart fill his eyes before he kisses her again.

"I love you, too. So much."

She smiles, snuggling back into his arms. "You know what you said earlier? About the uniform being a turn-on?"

He chuckles, kissing the top of her head. "Yeah?"

"Maybe we can test that."

Then they both laugh, and though nothing makes sense, in that moment, everything does.

-:-

**be sure to let me know how i did in a review. and tell me your thoughts on the episode too ;)**


	5. 4x15: safe haven

**set after spencer comes to stay with toby at his loft at the end of 4x15. **

**warning: last part is a tad racy. i want to say it's a high t rating, pushing m. proceed with caution.**

-:-

five: safe haven

She makes her way to his loft with the all-consuming yearning of a woman who has been deprived of something essential, like food or water. In her case, it's love she's lacking, but she knows that the moment his door opens to her, she will be rewarded with an overabundance of it.

Dragging her hastily-packed wheeled suitcase behind her, she trudges up the flight of stairs to his door, a journey she's made countless times before. Pausing at the top of the stairs, hand poised to knock, she suddenly flashes back to that stormy night not so long ago, when she'd wept against this very door, begging him to tell her that there was some explanation for the horror she'd witnessed in her kitchen. When she'd shattered, her soul burned to ashes, her spirit torn to shreds.

Just as soon as the memory etches itself over her mind, she shakes it away. God only knows he's reassured her endlessly of his feelings for her and his ultimately honorable intentions as well as apologized profusely. They're healing. Tonight, she isn't here with a sick fear that he's broken her.

She's here with the absolute certainty that he's the only one who can fix her.

She knocks carefully, then tries the door. It glides open easily, and she takes a step inside.

He's sitting at his laptop, the faint glow of its screen bathing his handsome face in a soft light.

"Hey," he says without looking up, almost as if he's sensed her. "Did you talk to your dad about Radley?"

His question stirs up some sizzling embers of anger and sorrow within her. She and her father have discussed far more than the godforsaken sanitarium. "Yeah. I did."

He must hear something in her voice, a tinge of something she's failed to conceal, because he looks up, questioning concern in his baby blue eyes.

"Mind if I stay here for a while?" She asks lightly, gesturing to the luggage she's carting behind her.

Slowly, he rises to close the short distance between them, and she releases her grip on the handle of the suitcase as he folds her into his arms. Her knees just about buckle in relief when she feels him nod his consent into her neck.

Burrowing deeper into his comforting embrace, she inhales his scent, a scent she wishes she could bottle and drown herself in when she's missing him - that combination of sawdust, mint, and something unquestionably male. Her arms tighten around him, wanting desperately to just be held there, warm and safe and sure, for the rest of her life.

Eventually, he draws back slightly, only to cup her cheek in his calloused yet incredibly gentle hand.

"What happened?" He murmurs softly, his eyes searching her face.

She shakes her head. "My dad-" she begins, then sighs deeply. "I just...I needed to get away. Get away from that house, from...from all of the secrets, and the lies. And the misery." She looks up at him, laying a hand over his atop her cheek. "I'm sorry, I should've called first. Now I'm imposing. Toby-"

"Shh." He silences her by pulling her back into his arms. "You're not imposing, Spence. You can stay here as long as you want. My home is your home."

Suddenly, overwhelmingly in love with him, she nuzzles her face into his throat. "Really?"

"Really," he confirms, running his fingers through her silken mahogany locks.

She lifts her face up to his, wondering for approximately the trillionth time how she got so lucky. "_You're _my home, Toby. My safe place to land."

His eyes light up, the emotion in them so strong it steals her breath. He kisses her, tenderly, on each cheek. "And you're mine."

Together, they walk to the futon in the loft's main sitting area - a futon they've made quite a few memories on - letting the door fall closed, shutting out the darkness and pain beyond this safe haven. She deposits her bag in a corner, then lets him pull her down on the couch beside him, leaning contentedly into his touch as he plays with her hair.

They spend a few minutes sitting in a comfortable silence, though she can tell he's worried about her. Finally, tentatively, he asks, "Do you want to talk about it? About what happened with your dad?" She immediately stiffens, and he quickly adds, "You don't have to. I just-"

"He was just being a jerk." Her response is a mutter, and he notes that the relaxed smile on her face has vanished as she picks at her nails in obvious discomfort. Toby knows his stubborn, obsessive, competitive, beautiful, challenging girlfriend better than he knows himself; he knows she's shut herself down on the issue of whatever had transpired between her and Peter Hastings. Deciding not to press any further, he kisses the crown of her head.

"Are you hungry?" He inquires, deftly changing the subject. "I can order us some takeout from that Italian place."

Now that he mentions it, she realizes that she's starving.

"That sounds incredible. But I don't want you to go to all that trouble-" she begins, but he interjects.

"It's no trouble at all, Spence. I'm going to go call in our order." Rising, he kisses her nose. "Make yourself comfortable, okay?"

"Okay." Smiling after him, she thinks that she feels more comfortable here than she ever has under the roof of the estate she's lived in for over a decade and a half.

-:-

A little while later, Spencer and Toby are seated at the small table in the loft's kitchen, steaming plates of the lasagna he'd ordered from Bucolli's in front of them. He'd opened a bottle of red wine, and had even gotten them some gelato for dessert, knowing Spencer's love for the Italian delight. She had unearthed some candles, and lit a few, creating an atmosphere she identifies as being, "intimate evening at home." It isn't flashy or elegant or stuffy like dinners with her family - not that they have ever really shared cozy family meals, she thinks.

This feels...right.

"You want more?" Toby asks, smiling at her across the table. He looks like an angel in the candlelight, and she actually feels her heart skip a beat. Glancing down at her plate, slightly flustered, she realizes she's just about licked it clean.

"I'm good," she assures him, smiling back. "Thank you."

He reaches across the table to take her hand. "We don't get to do dinner dates often enough."

"Not just for dinner," she clarifies. "For everything." She glances around the kitchen, his tiny, cozy loft, then back at him. And somehow it's incredibly easy for her to imagine them living there together. Sharing these meals every night, curling up to watch TV on the futon, waking up surrounded by his warmth in his bed every morning.

She's only seventeen, and she knows, realistically, that she's far too young to be thinking of forever. But when she does think of it - that strange and terrifying entity - she thinks of him.

And somehow it's not so strange or terrifying anymore.

"I could get used to this," she muses aloud.

"Used to what?"

"This. Us. Here. Together." She waves a hand vaguely to encompass the room.

Smiling slowly, he rises, then pulls her out of her chair, placing his hands at her waist. "Waking up all tangled in the sheets?"

"Burning toast for breakfast. Arguing over who has control of the remote..." she continues. Her finger strokes slowly down his chest.

"Scrabble marathons every evening," he adds, his finger brushing over her hip. "Coming home to you after work."

"Kissing you good morning first thing when I wake up," she murmurs, lost in the fantasy. "God. It sounds perfect." She lifts her gaze to his. There are times, she thinks as they look into each other's eyes, that she feels as if she and Toby are two halves of the same soul, times they don't need words to communicate what they can with their eyes or their hands or their hearts.

"It does," he agrees softly, lifting a hand to brush a thumb over her porcelain cheek. "A life with you...that's my dream, Spence."

And there are times when he does use words, and they move her unbearably. She gently lifts her mouth to his, sinking into the kiss. It starts slow, deep and tender and soft. But as they keep kissing, that omnipresent spark between them ignites.

And before long their mouths are colliding with frantic urgency, tongues sliding. His hands race over her skin, wreaking havoc as he presses her back against the wall, dead set on devouring her right then and there. She can't breathe, the small kitchen suddenly seems very, very warm, and the only coherent thought she has is that she wants more.

_Now._

It's only been a matter of hours since they've done this, but at that moment, it's as if they haven't so much as touched each other in years. It's like a drop of rain in a desert. Now that she's gotten a taste, she seeks the flood.

Breaking away breathlessly, she leans her forehead against his. "I think we're done here," she rasps.

"What about dessert?" His voice is husky with desire as he trails a finger ever so gently down the point in the center of her chin.

She presses her lips to his ear. "I'd much rather have you."

And then their lips meet once again, conveying a million swarming emotions into one long, rough, passionate kiss. He boosts her into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist, their mouths never breaking contact.

When they collapse onto his bed, it's two magnets seeking their opposite charge. It's an inevitable collision.

His shirt is torn away, tossed carelessly aside. Hers follows. Jeans, socks, underwear all land in various spots on the floor as greedy hands and lips take what they want.

Until all that's left is bare, sweat-soaked flesh.

"I love you," he gasps, struggling to speak through the pressure. "I love you, Spencer."

"Show me." She demands, and he does.

The rest is a blur of tangled limbs, of gasps and whimpers, whispers and moans, blinding passion and that overwhelming sense of _togetherness _lovemaking provides.

Lying on their backs, much later, breathing heavily like two people who have just won a very long, exhilarating race, the couple struggles to collect their thoughts.

"Wow," Spencer says finally. It's all she can manage. Her body is a mosaic of aches and pleasure, and she can't feel her toes, but she suspects she'll regain full use of her lungs in a year or so.

"'Wow'?" Toby musters what little energy he has left, turning his head to face her. "That huge vocabulary of yours, and that's the best you can do?"

"I think you've literally and figuratively blown my mind, Cavanaugh," she replies, poking him in the shoulder. He grins, then leans down to kiss her.

For a few moments, they lie in silence while their breathing steadies. She cuddles closer to him, smiling as he wraps his arms back around her, guiding her head against his chest. She listens to the strong, steady sound of his heartbeat, wondering by what miracle such a sweet, perfect, patient man was real and hers.

"I love you, Toby."

The words are out of her mouth before she even knows she's going to say them, but any other words she has left die on her lips when she sees the look in his dazzling eyes.

"I love you, too. Always." He kisses her head, then chuckles when she yawns. "You're tired."

"Yeah. You wore me out." She presses her lips to his throat, feeling her eyes grow heavy. "I'm really glad I came here."

"So am I, Spence." He buries his face in her hair. "So am I. Sleep now. I'm right here."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

And so he holds her close as she falls asleep, until he's sure that there are no monsters plaguing her in her dreams. And as he watches the moonlight dance across her beautiful face, he thinks that yes, he can get used to this.

-:-

**so...review? pretty please? thanks x3**


	6. 3x02: breathless

**so this chapter is actually a revamped version of a oneshot i posted on here a long, long time ago. i'm talking season 3A. but it's an extended version of one of my personal favorite spoby scenes, so i thought i'd include it as a part of this story, too. **

**lots of love to everyone who's left me a review! keep 'em coming :)**

-:-

six: breathless

She just wants to curl up in a ball and sleep. The stress of everything that has been going on - Mona, Maya, Emily, the dug-up grave, Alison, New A, Melissa, Garrett, not to mention school - has finally caught up to her. She's always been good at handling pressure (after all, she's a Hastings, and Hastings bounce back like superballs, as she had told her mother). She's the girl who handled school and charity-work and field hockey and "A" texts while balancing her high-pressure family life, her friends, and her boyfriend. But now…she can't. After everything that's happened, after all she lost, all she hurt, all she feared, it is supposed to be done. Mona's locked up at Radley; Garrett's in jail. It's supposed to be over.

But it's not.

_Game on, bitches. –A_

A. That accursed initial she thought she'd never have to see at the bottom of a text again. How can "A" be back? And who is it this time? She knows there is no way Mona had acted alone, but what is the point of torturing them all over again? Haven't they been through enough?

Either way, New A has really amped up his/her game. Sending Emily Alison's veneers - or alleged veneers - is pretty damn creepy…not that she expects anything short of that from the elusive, black-hooded nightmare.

God. Why is it that whenever she thinks she can take a breath, "A" shoves her head back underwater?

A soft knock on the door startles her out of her reverie, and she realizes she's been staring absently at the book Mrs. Montgomery assigned for the month, and has been reading the same sentence over and over and over again. Slightly embarrassed, she shoves the book aside and opens the door. A pair of ice-blue eyes welcomes her, and in spite of herself, she manages a smile.

Before she can even open her mouth, his lips touch hers, his large hands tenderly cupping her cheek, and suddenly all the tragedies of life seem just so inconsequential. Surprised, all she can think to do is kiss him back. The kiss is long and sweet and soft, not tentative but not heated. It's perfect.

He's perfect.

Eventually, breathing becomes important again, and they pull back, their faces millimeters apart.

"Hi," she manages, speaking over her pounding heartbeat, a flush rising to her ivory cheeks.

"Hey," he replies, his deep dimples appearing as he tenderly smiles down at her. "How was school?"

"Um…" she stammers, still reeling from the kiss, "It-it was school. You know, the usual." _The usual meaning powwows about mentally ill stalkers and corrupt cops and fishing necklaces made of teeth from toilet bowls. _Her life is nothing _but _unusual, she thinks with irony.

Toby brushes a stray strand of her hair, escaped from her ponytail, behind her ear, gently brushing his fingers over the delicate skin there. "I missed you."

Her heart swells, a wide, almost instantaneous smile spreading over her face. "I missed you, too."

He takes her hands, guiding her backwards into the kitchen, letting the wood-paneled door close softly behind him. "What're you up to?" he inquires, toying with her fingers, the skin of his work-roughened hands brushing against hers.

"Um…just stuff for, um, English," she manages, distracted by the feeling of his skin over hers and the ache of love it inspires within her. "I have to read _Hedda Gabler_."

"Oh," Toby replies, guilt washing over his handsome face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you-"

"No." she interrupts, shaking her head vigorously. "Toby, you could never bother me. Actually, your coming here to check on me is you being your typically sweet self, and I"—she leans forward, touching his forehead to hers—"have almost no complaints."

"Almost?" he grins down at her. "What does that mean?"

"It means that you're too good of a distraction. But…I think maybe I can hold off five minutes. I mean," she adds, flirtatiously batting her mascara-soaked lashes, her mocha-colored eyes sparkling, "the book isn't going anywhere, right?"

Toby chuckles, squeezing her hands. "Spence. I'm not going anywhere either, you know. You're stuck with me."

"Good," she breathes, her eyes boring into his. "Because I really don't know what I would do without you."

He gently tips up her chin with his index finger. "You'll never have to know," he replies softly. "I'll be here as long as you want me."

Tears fill her eyes and for a moment the one coherent thought going through her mind is, _I love you._

And she does. She loves him so, so much. The past five months, after Toby came back to her and Mona was locked up, had been the best of her life, the most absolutely perfect days. They spent most of the time doing nothing—walking along the beach; laying in her backyard and trying to spot shapes in the clouds; kissing on her bed; watching movies; and talking on the phone for hours. Toby had gotten his own place away from Jenna the Sister-Bitch, and Spencer was finally free of "A" and all the problems surrounding her.

But now "A" is back, and she is forced to lie - yet again - to the only person who she really trusts, who she truly loves. And it's breaking her heart. After Toby returned, she promised him that there would be no more secrets between them, but now she is forcing herself to keep New A a secret from her protective boyfriend, in order to keep him safe, as much as it's killing her.

She can't think of anything to say, so she almost involuntarily jumps into his arms, hugging him with all the strength she has. He hugs her back, his arms securely holding her, as if he'll never let go. She buries her head into his shoulder as he kisses her head. "You're amazing," she murmurs into his collarbone.

"Look who's talking," he counters, stroking her cheek.

In response, she reaches up and kisses him tenderly on the mouth, pulling him closer. His lips, his touch, his taste, his scent…everything about him is so perfectly intoxicating that it makes her wonder how she can manage to spend even a second without him.

"Spencer…" he mumbles, pulling away.

"Toby."

Their eyes meet, dazzling turquoise and deep mocha meshing together, and Spencer feels her heart soar.

"You better go do your homework," he says softly, kissing her forehead. "And I have some work of my own to do." He picks up a set of blueprints that she hadn't noticed in her joy of seeing him.

"Okay," she sighs reluctantly, untangling herself from him. He squeezes her hand as she crosses the room to the couch, where her book sits, silently taunting her. Toby plops down on the kitchen island, moving aside a pot of coffee, probably lukewarm now; Spencer had made it over an hour before. Spreading out his work blueprints, he gets to work sketching. She can't help smiling at how adorable he looks, bent over the prints, his jaw adorably clenched. Reaching for her book, she begins to read, but she can't focus on the story of suicidal Hedda, thinking about something else: a Google search she'd done the night before. Maybe her boyfriend can shed some light on who New A could be—without knowing there even _is_ a New A, she thinks resentfully.

"Where did Jenna go when music camp ended?" Spencer blurts, lowering her book. "Did your parents pick her up?"

He glances up from the blueprints, his brow furrowing slightly. "I have no idea, why?"

"Well," she begins, "that camp ended on August twenty-third. I looked it up online," she admits. "Did she just…stay up in the Pocconos?" Jenna would've had to go somewhere, considering that she had come back today. Maybe she has something to do with what happened that night with Emily and the missing body. _People lie, but medical records don't…_Garrett had to be talking about Jenna. Right?

"Honestly, I don't know," Toby confesses, rolling up his supplies and sitting down on the loveseat next to her. "I was packing up my stuff before she even went to camp. Just eating breakfast there was weird," he adds, shaking his head.

"How come?" she asks in concern, putting the book down.

"My parents were treating Jenna like one of her snow globes," Toby explains. "After the surgery didn't work, it was like they thought she'd crack if they asked the wrong question."

At least they _asked_ questions, Spencer thinks bitterly. Her parents barely notice her existence, and when they do acknowledge her, it's to criticize and correct and demand. Letting out a sigh, she puts her head in her hands, attempting to block out all the many miseries and stresses in her world.

"Hey," Toby breathes worriedly.

"Mmmm?" she says into her hand, rubbing her aching temples. He touches her arm and she looks up into his clear blue irises.

"Come here," he beckons, holding out his arms. He pulls her closer, her back to him, and he rubs his hands up and down her back and shoulders. She swallows, the warmth of his touch sending bolts of electricity coursing through her veins. He smoothes the knots in her shoulders lovingly, and she lets out a slight sigh as the massage relieves all the tension of the past two years of her life—every A text, every book report, every sleepless night.

"You're a little tense," he murmurs, still stroking her back.

"Yeah, I was born that way," she jokes lightly.

He chuckles. "Maybe I can help."

Her eyes close in relief and contentment as his loving, tender touch travels over her skin. He lifts the hem of her shirt, his hands resting on her shoulder blades, and her breath catches in her throat as she feels him kiss the bare skin of her back, once, twice, three times…suddenly, an uncontrollable surge of love overcomes her, and she whirls around, pressing her lips to his. He kisses back, wrapping her in his arms as the kiss grows more heated. Spencer moans slightly into the kiss and he responds by kissing her deeply. They fall back onto the couch cushions, their mouths never breaking contact, her hands pulling on his navy polo, caressing the 901 FREE AT LAST inked on his hip. Her legs tangle through his as they kiss like it's the last time they'll ever have the chance.

She thinks about that afternoon in her bedroom, and how seeing him, his perfect body glistening from his shower, his blue eyes twinkling, in nothing but that towel, made her forget why she wanted to wait. They'd talked about their comfort level when a heated makeout one evening in July barely missed the cutoff, and if there was anyone she wants to be her first, it is Toby. But now, she wonders, why wait? She loves him, he loves her, and she's ready to take that step. But before she can even recollect her thoughts, the sound of her mother's clipped voice interrupts Spencer and Toby's passionate moment.

"Spencer?" Veronica calls, the door clicking shut behind her.

_Oh, crap, _Spencer thinks, breaking the kiss and struggling to disentangle herself from her equally startled and disappointed boyfriend. "Yeah, in here!" she yells back, yanking herself out from underneath him, both of them readjusting their rumpled clothing and mussed hair, praying Veronica wouldn't notice their swollen lips and flushed faces.

By the time her mother _click-clack_s in, wearing an elegant blouse and skirt, Gucci bag on her arm and hair perfectly styled, the couple is sitting stiffly on the couch, wearing innocent smiles. "Oh." Veronica stops short when she sees that her daughter isn't alone. "Hello, Toby." Ever since the night that Mona had been exposed, both Peter and Veronica had tried to be more tolerant of Spencer's relationship with Toby, deciding to "bury the hatchet", as Peter put it. "Or the hockey stick," Spencer had replied snarkily. But she is grateful to her stubborn, aloof parents for trying.

"Hey, Mrs. Hastings, how's it going?" Toby replies with a nervous smile.

"Oh, I've had better days," Veronica responds wryly. She crosses over into the kitchen, fiddling with the wireless phone. "Has your sister called?" she asks, directing the question at her younger daughter. "I've left three messages for her."

"Um, no," Spencer replies tentatively, sensing that something's up with her mother. "Is Melissa okay?" Ever since Melissa had her miscarriage in June, her sister has stopped calling, seeming to wallow in the grief of losing her last tie to her deceased husband. Spencer supposes she understands; even after everything, Melissa had loved Ian, and baby Taylor even more.

"I don't think okay really applies in her situation, now does it?" Veronica flashes Spencer a hard look. Spencer winces. Her mother is a force of nature when she was stressed or angry, not unlike Spencer herself. Veronica clears her throat, glancing back over at Toby, still sitting awkwardly on the couch. "Will you be joining us for dinner, Toby?"

"Well, I was-" Toby begins, pausing as Spencer places her hand gently on his thigh. He meets his girlfriend's eyes and she shoots him a pleading look, begging him to stay. He can almost hear her crooning, _please, Toby? _Chuckling slightly under his breath at the damning effect she has on him, he turns back to Veronica with a smile. "Sure."

-:-

"Pass the salt," Peter asks his wife, blowing on the stew in front of him.

"I got it, Dad," Spencer replies, handing her father the saltshaker.

"Peter," Veronica clucks her tongue in disapproval. "You're not supposed to have salt, remember?"

Peter waved his spoon dismissively. "That doctor doesn't know anything."

"Uh, Dad, they don't pass out medical degrees on the street, you know," Spencer points out.

Peter, Veronica, Spencer, and Toby are seated around the Hastings' dining room, bowls of stew and pieces of garlic bread in front of them, making small talk.

"Or law degrees," Veronica points out.

"Hard work day?" Peter asks his wife, reaching for a piece of garlic bread.

Veronica nods. "Understatement. Actually," she continues, picking up her still half-full bowl and walking it to the sink, "I think I'm going to turn in early."

"You sure?"

Veronica nods. "An aspirin and some sleep will do me good. Goodnight."

"Bye, Mom," Spencer says, smiling weakly at her obviously overworked mother.

"Feel better, Mrs. Hastings," Toby adds.

Veronica turns in the doorway. "It was nice to have you, Toby."

"Thank you for having me," Toby replies politely. "And thank you for dinner. It was great."

She half-smiles back, then glances at her daughter. "Get some sleep, honey."

"Sure, Mom," Spencer reassures.

Once she's gone, an awkward silence fills the table.

"So, Toby," Peter says casually, breaking the silence. "Spencer mentioned you were renovating the new coffeeshop downtown?"

"Yeah," Toby answers, wiping his mouth with the linen napkin by his plate. "I got a loft above the Brew, with free room and board. The renovation process was pretty extensive; I was roughing it for a while." He laughs nervously. Given his history with Spencer's father, the dinner is going pretty well, Spencer thinks. She's proud of her boyfriend for earning her parents' trust and approval, even though it has taken a while. After all, better late than never. She has always known her parents will recognize how much Toby meant to her, and now it seems they have.

"That's great." Peter replies, seeming genuinely proud. "You have a lot of talent. And I'm glad my daughter has someone around to care for her."

Spencer takes his hand under the table and holds it atop his knee, smiling at him as if to say _I'm glad I do, too._

He squeezes back, saying, "I'm glad I have your daughter around, Mr. Hastings. Spencer…is amazing. She really is."

"Took you long enough," Spencer jokes, squeezing Toby's hands tighter.

Peter smiles slightly, watching the lovestruck couple. "Well, take good care of her," he tells Toby firmly.

"I always will," Toby replies, reaffirming the vow he made to himself the second after he first kissed the brunette outside of the motel. "I promise."

Peter nods, rising. "I'd better turn in, too. You have a good night, Toby."

"You too, Mr. Hastings," Toby echoes politely.

"Get some rest, Champ," Peter kisses Spencer's cheek, and she rolls her eyes mentally, silently willing him to just go so she and Toby can have a rare, uninterrupted moment alone.

"Okay. Goodnight."

Peter heads up the winding staircase to his room, leaving Spencer and Toby alone. For a moment, they just look at each other across the cherry wood dining set, their gazes searing into each others' souls, their heartbeats accelerating. Then she's in his arms and they're hugging tightly, as if to protect each other from all the evils of the world, and Spencer feels safe. She feels happy. She feels loved.

"That went really well," she gushes, grinning up at him. "See, I told you they were coming around."

Toby laughs softly. "I can't tell you how relieved I am. And, honestly, I'm a little scared of what he would've done if I had said anything other than how amazing you are."

"Well, that's what the gun over the mantle is for," Spencer deadpans. At his horrified look, she laughs. "I'm kidding. Honestly, though, you did great. I'm so proud of you."

Toby smiles softly. "That's all I wanted to hear."

As their lips touch, all that's going through Spencer's mind is that she really cannot live without him, without this. She's really and truly in love, and suddenly a flash of fear stabs through her heart: _What does New A plan to do to Toby?_

"Spence?" Toby breaks away, concern washing over his features, and she realizes that she's stopped kissing him. "Are you okay?"

"How could I not be?" she replies, brushing her fears away. She'll protect him, no matter what she has to do, who she has to hurt, what lies she has to tell. Toby is not going to get hurt at her expense. Not again.

"Toby?" she mumbles into his shoulder.

"Mmmm?"

"You're the amazing one. I just wanted you to know that."

He kisses her tenderly. "And I want _you _to know that I'm crazy about you."

She giggles. "Or crazy, period?"

"Oh, that's how you wanna play it?" he grabs her, tickling her mercilessly until she shrieks, "Toby! Toby, st-stop! Please…please, I-I can't…I can't breathe."

He laughs, too, bending down to kiss her neck as she steadies herself, panting. "I love that."

"What? Torturing me?" She scoffs sarcastically.

"No," he replies, smoothing her hair. "The sound of your laugh."

She smiles slowly, feeling herself melt. Toby has always been the more romantic one, not that she hasn't pulled a Juliet move now and then. "Well, _I_ love when you do that thing where you take my breath away. All I have to do is look into your incredible eyes, or hear your voice, or feel you touch me, and I forget how to breathe. I think that's one of the side effects of that disease—what's it called?—oh yeah, love."

"Mmm. You should probably get that checked out," he teases, stroking her fingers.

"See, that's the thing. It's incurable. The only way to satisfy it is…to…do…this." She kisses him lightly on the jaw, running her fingers through his soft chestnut hair, ruffling it slightly.

"Hmm, well I think I've been a victim to this disease for a while," Toby tells her, putting his arms around her tiny waist. "Actually, ever since a certain gorgeous girl showed up on my front porch with a French workbook."

Her brown eyes flit from his lips back up to his own icy-blue eyes, her voice raspier than usual as she breathes, "Well, she's really lucky to have a boyfriend as incredible as you."

"No. I'm the lucky one."

And then they're kissing again, emitting all their love and need and want into the moment. Emitting how much they love each other, how they would do anything for each other.

"I'd better go," Toby murmurs, reluctantly pulling away.

She swallows back her disappointment. "Okay." It's getting late. She has school tomorrow, but all she wants is Toby. She has to remind herself that they're only teenagers; life doesn't work like that. Not yet, at least.

"Tomorrow, we'll pick up where we left off," he promises, rubbing a hand over her arm.

"Sounds great," she sighs, looking up at him. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he gives her a final, lingering kiss. "Sweet dreams."

She watches him drive off into the night, watches as the truck grows smaller and smaller and then disappears entirely, thinking that while life can throw its curveballs, sometimes the most unexpected can turn out to be the very best.

And Toby is proof of that.


	7. 5x12: hours

**hey loves! before i proceed with the chapter, i'd really like to say a big THANK YOU to everyone who's taken the time out of their lives to read, review, follow, or favorite this story - or anything else i've posted on this site. your sweet words and support are SO appreciated, and i wish i could thank each and every single one of you personally. you guys are complete rockstars, and truly brighten my days.**

**so, okay. this chapter is a deleted scene from 5x12, the midseason finale. as a forewarning, i probably won't be updating this story too regularly going forward since senior year (!) starts on thursday, but i will do my very best :) bear with me.**

**oh, and while i'm babbling, it would be awesome if you could check out my new spoby oneshot, _take me back to the start._ pretty please? thanks ;)**

**love you guys lots. keep that feedback coming!**

**-Ana**

-:-

seven: hours

_It's all my fault. _The words run through her head, over and over, an accursed mantra, a self-loathing taunt, a devastating fact.

As she sits in the backseat, knuckles white, clutching her phone as if it were her lifeline, silently begging for it to ring and for his smooth baritone to croon in her ear as Caleb speeds to the hospital, ignoring the speed limit: _it's all my fault._

As she barrels into the emergency room, Hanna, Caleb, and Aria at her heels, practically mowing down everyone in her path in her haste to get to him: _it's all my fault._

As she breathes his name when the nurse asks who she was looking for, barely hearing her own voice form the syllables over her thudding heartbeat: _it's all my fault._

As she is directed to the waiting area, her body sliding brokenly into the hard, uncomfortable chair, shaking her head in absent refusal when Hanna tries to push a styrofoam cup of steaming coffee into her hand: _it's all my fault._

And isn't it? Isn't all this her own doing? If he hadn't been so distracted, worried about her whereabouts, he would've seen the damned car coming. Better yet, if she'd told him what she was doing, or had just gone to the ceremony with him, the entire disaster could have been avoided altogether.

"Spence." Almost as if reading her spiraling thoughts, Hanna touches her arm, a gesture of solidarity. "It was an accident. It's not on you."

She hears herself let out a harsh laugh, though there's no humor in it. "Every bad thing that's ever happened to him is on me, in some way or another."

"That's not-" Hanna starts, but Spencer cuts her off. "It _is_ true, and don't try to tell me it isn't."

"Han." Caleb shoots her a look that clearly says, _let her be. _Sighing, Hanna drops Spencer's arm, rising to wander over to the ancient coffeemaker, replenishing her empty cup.

"How are you actually drinking that?" Aria wonders, giving the blonde a baffled look. "It tastes like tar."

Hanna shrugs and takes a fortifying sip before admitting, "It is pretty gross."

Spencer looks away, absently toying with the necklace she slipped on before Mona picked her up for Operation Radley: the tiny Scrabble tile dangling off the chain catches the harsh florescent lighting.

Isn't it funny, she thinks, how time works? How it seems to move at the speed of light when your adrenaline is pumping, like during a Spelling Bee or field hockey championships, yet slows to a snail's pace when you're weighed down with dread, such as when you're at the hospital or the police station?

She vaguely recalls Aria once calling her the master of time, but now she knows that isn't true. Because if it was, she would've done a better job at cherishing every last second she spent with Toby, and not letting those moments scatter away like leaves in Autumn.

"Spencer Hastings?" She jumps at the sound of her name. The nurse gestures to her. "Mr. Cavanaugh is asking for you."

-:-

Her legs can hardly support her willowy frame as she steps into his hospital room. Monitors are beeping and IV tubes are snaking here and there, and she smell of antiseptic hits her nostrils, but it all seems to fade away, muted, when she sees him.

He's propped up on the bed, looking exhausted but not particularly distraught, his hair mussed. His eyes are shut, his breathing even.

And his left leg is encased in a mountain of plaster.

She manages to drop down into the visitor's chair by the bed, her soul flaming.

"Toby." His name falls from her lips, a plea, a benediction.

His eyes immediately flutter open, oceans of the deepest blue. "Hey." His voice is slightly scratchy. "I swear, I feel much better than I look."

And then the tears she's been fighting back since she heard the crash through the crap cell phone connection come, a dam breaking loose behind her eyes, a torrent, a deluge.

"Shhh." She feels him stroke her hair, drop a few kisses there. "Shhh, Spence. It's okay. I'm okay." Somewhere through her sobs, anger - a bubbling rage at herself - fuels within her. Why is he comforting her, when _she_ should be the one comforting _him_? When he should be furious at her for keeping secrets yet again, for putting him in jeopardy?

She lifts her damp face to his, letting out a shaky breath as his thumb strokes a few lingering tears away. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?" He looks genuinely confused.

"For not making it to your ceremony. For worrying you. For this..." She looks back at the cast, feeling her already battered heart take yet another beating.

"Spencer." His voice is so unbelievably gentle, yet firm. "This is _not _your fault. This is all me. I should've been paying better attention to the road."

"Pretty hard to do that when you're worried about your girlfriend, who's notorious for getting herself into trouble," she replies sardonically.

"About that..." he traces her jawline carefully, his gaze searing into hers. "Where were you tonight?"

She swallows hard, bracing herself. "Breaking into Radley."

"What? _Why_?"

She takes a deep breath. "The cops...they think that...that I..."

"What, Spencer?" He takes her face in his hands.

"That I...killed Bethany Young." Saying it out loud makes her stomach twist, and Toby's expression darken.

"What? How can they think that? You didn't even know her."

"No, but..." she takes a deep breath. "Ali did. When Mona and I broke into Radley, we found proof that Mrs. DiLaurentis was having an affair with Bethany's father. The cops figure that after Alison found out about my...problem with Adderall, I was so desperate for her to keep it a secret, I killed Bethany for her."

"That's crazy," Toby says after a long pause. He kisses her cheek, her nose, her forehead. "No one could believe that."

"Well, they do." She sighs. "I know I should've just told you, but..."

"Hey." He silences her with a long kiss to her mouth. "I told you. I know who you are, Spencer. I _love _who you are."

"How?" Instead of soothing, as he intended, his words bring a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. "How can you love me? All I do is make you miserable and cause you broken limbs and put you in danger just by being with me. I'm the reason your house blew up and you got sent to juvie. Hell, you went and got not only a ploce uniform, but an 'A' uniform to protect me. And on top of that I'm stubborn and obsessive and damaged and..."

This time, the kiss makes her head spin, and the rest of her self-deprecating ramble is swallowed up by his mouth pressing to hers avidly, deeply, tenderly.

"Listen to me," he murmurs, drawing away. "Maybe we're not perfect, but so what? Spencer, you make me happy. You make me believe that there is good in the world, even though there's so much bad. You are the single best thing that's ever happened to me, and I don't care if being with you puts me in danger. I love you. And no one, not even 'A', can change that. Do you understand me?"

She nods, so in love with him in that moment that she feels that her heart could burst. "I understand."

"Good." He kisses her again, lightly this time, then brushes a hand over her curls, disheveled from the night's taxing events.

She leans into his touch. "How long are you going to be in the cast?"

"A month or so. Doctor said it was a pretty clean break, but I'll have to stay here overnight."

"Then so am I," she decides, pulling her chair closer so that she can smooth down his ruffled chestnut waves. "I'm staying right here next to you."

And so she does. She sits by him as hour by hour passes by, as the dusk turns to midnight, midnight to dawn, watching starlight and moonshine, and finally sunlight, wash over his face, streaming in from the window.

She memorizes every plane of his face, every curve, every arch and sinew. She memorizes the exact color of his eyes - cloudless summer skies; Pacific ocean waves; gleaming sapphires - and his scent - woodsy and masculine and _Toby_.

She memorizes the shape of his lips, the feel of them, the softness, the taste. His quick, serene smile; his deep frown. His laugh. His sigh.

She whispers foolish, lovely things, though he can't hear: _Always your girl. You are my once upon a time. My heart will only ever be yours._

Everything and all things. That is Toby to her.

And hours later, when his eyes flutter open to hers, and he mutters a sleepy "good morning" she simply kisses him, because every morning is good - even the bad ones - as long as she is with him.

-:-

-:-


End file.
